Words I Couldn't Say
by evolmarine
Summary: Ian returns from the military with PTSD and a heroin addiction, Mickey realizes he can't not st the words he should've said before Ian ever left.


**Chapter 1 **

I wake up screaming , my heart racing, my breathing erratic. The dream was just too vivid, too real. I feel a hand on my shoulder, my body reacts, and I find myself straddling the man beside me, my elbow against their throat.

"Jesus, Ian. It's me."

I jump off of him, pushing myself against the wall, "I'm sorry."

I try to stop my body from trembling, but if anything it just makes me feel sicker. My stomach turns at the thought that I could've easily killed my brother, and I barely make it to the bathroom before I start to throw-up.

Lip follows me into the bathroom, catching me as I puke. "Fuck, Ian. Fi?" Lip yells, he has his face covered in his hands.

I can hear her running down the hall before I see her. She pushes past Lip, opening a cabinet and wetting a rag. I can tell she hasn't been sleeping well from the dark bags under her brown eyes.

"What the hell happened, Lip?" She asks. I start to say, but feel the vomit coming up again.

"All I know is that he was yelling about an IED, then he woke up and started puking," Lip says, leaving out the part about me trying to kill him.

Fiona wipes the sweat off my forhead before pulling off my sweat soaked shirt. I can tell by the way she keeps looking at me that I look like shit, but at that point I really couldn't care less. I lay my head against the tub and fall asleep, just wanting to escape my messed up reality.

…..

I pace back and forth in Mandy's room, trying not to freak out. I pull out a cigarette from my pocket, lighting it, and continuing to pace. My mind is racing at the possibility that maybe it's true maybe I can finally breathe again, maybe I can stop dreaming about bullets and blood. I hear the key in the door, praying it isn't my father. I can deal without him hitting me for a day.

The bedroom door opens and I see her multi-colored hair before I yank her inside. She stumbles over some clothes, and flips me off before sitting down.

"Is it true?" I ask.

"Is what true?"

"Is he back? Is Gallagher back?"

She nods, "Yeah, but he's not the same."

I feel my excitement dim immensely, "How?"

"Lip said something about panic attacks, readjusting, and possible PTSD," she says.

I try to remember what that was but came up blank.

Mandy sees my confusion and explains, "Post traumatic stress disorder."

My brain works slower than my legs and I soon find myself in front of the Gallagher house. I knock on the door, hoping it won't be him and praying it will. I can hear Deb tell Carl that he wreaks and needs a different shirt, and smile. But my smile is short lived.

"Lip, I don't know how much more of this he can take," Fiona is saying.

"He's a Gallagher, he can take anything."

"It kills me to see him like this. There's no way he's okay."

I don't wait for someone to answer, I can't. Fiona stares at me and I know she's been crying. Her eyes are filled with pain, and I'm not sure I can do this.

"What do you want, Mickey?" Lip asks, but he doesn't have his usual smirk, and that worries me.

"Where is he?"

Lip shakes his head, but Fiona points at the ceiling. I don't say anything else as I take the stairs two at a time. At first, I'm not sure which room to go to, but then I hear the unmistakable sound of someone puking their guts out. I push open the bathroom door until it bumps against the feet of someone sitting on the ground.

"Oh shit, Firecrotch."

He doesn't look up for a moment, and I can't help but look him up and down. No, he is not okay. Sweat was beading on his pale skin, and when he finally looks up, his eyes were sunken in like the pictures of the holocaust victims.

"Mickey?" He rasps, his mouth staining into a smile.

I shut the door behind me and sit down across from him, criss-crossing my legs. Ian wasn't one of those people that could be broken, but war had. He looked like he was dying.

"How've you been, Mickey?" He asks.

I shake my head, "Shut up, Gallagher."

He smiles again, but it looks more like the old Ian than this broken man. He reaches out a hand, and I can't help but lean forward. His fingers touch my face, and I sigh. I look at his chest taking in the random scars that run up his stomach and chest, but my eyes catch the bruising that has formed at his elbow.

"What the fuck, Gallagher?" I ask, grabbing his hand and twisting until his arm is bared to me. "You're doing heroin?"

He yanks his arm back, vomiting into the toilet. I hand him the bottle of water that was beside me, staring as he drains half of it.

He looks up at me, "I can't do this anymore."

"Yeah, you can, you're from the Southside."

He shakes his head and I watch as Ian begins to cry. I scoot over beside him, unsure of what to do. Ian lays his head in my lap, and I absently run my fingers through his hair.

"I can't go back," he whispers.

I nod my head, "I know."


End file.
